


Negative Proximity

by taking_a_propaganda



Series: Distances [1]
Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka has a distaste for Roman, Am I Using the Semicolon Correctly, Anakin has never been so weirded out, Angst, Because Roman's an Idiot, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Doppelganger, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, In turn Roman wields a lightsaber, Look at Him - He's Got Anxiety, No Beta, Obi-wan has to Babysit a Grown Man, Obi-wan learns what 'fuck' means, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roman Doesn't Know What To Do with Himself, Roman recognizes Mace as Samuel L. Jackson, Stonehenge Apocalypse - Freeform, Victor's Heart Hurts, We die like real men, What Are Other Words for 'Crime Lord', What the fuck does 'fuck' mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taking_a_propaganda/pseuds/taking_a_propaganda
Summary: As far as the artifacts went, none of them seemed to be cursed or brought him ill will. Sure, he was told they were or might be, but that didn't scare him. Nothing could scare Roman Sionis. Little did he know that one of them might as well be cursed. It brings him ill will. It brings him to a galaxy far, far away.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Series: Distances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688260
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Brushes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am a simple man who writes simple sentences. This is my first work on AO3, so we’ll see how this goes. Hopefully, it goes well. 
> 
> I have/am compiling a playlist for this story, I’ll try posting a link or something somehow if you guys are interested. They fueled this story and invoked some of the emotions I guess (?). A few of them might not seem relevant, but they’re there for some reason. That reason I don’t know.
> 
> This work came to me in a dream that lasted maybe... 30 seconds. 
> 
> Anyways.

“Fuuuuuck! Zsasz, this happens every fucking time!” A wine glass met the wall next to Victor’s head shattering into pieces. It wasn’t unusual for this many glasses broken in one day, but today was different. “For fucking fuck’s sake!”

They stood separated by the dining table, with food scattered every this way and that. Plates sat knocked over, fruit littered the floor with shards of crystal crunching underneath each step Victor made as he slowly moved over to Roman. A fist came down hard on the table, tiny sharp edges embedding themselves into his knuckles. “Owwwww... ohhhhh my God! Fuck!”

This sudden outburst took Victor by an expected surprise; he moved into action brushing a hand over Roman’s shoulder’s before rushing off. “I’ll go get the first aid. I’ll be right back. Don’t move!”

Roman hugged his hand to his chest, his eyebrows knitted together in pain. He loosened the muscles in his hand a little bit before he clenched his teeth together; the glass shifting ever so slightly, the trickle of blood increasing and falling onto the floor. “Eww, oh my God. Zsasz!” He didn’t want the pain to last any longer than he wanted to wait. “Hurry the fuck up!”

Within seconds of happenstance, Victor rounded the corner into the dining room carrying a small box in one hand, the other picking up a chair off the ground and setting it down behind Roman. A quick swipe of glass from the chair with his hand and he gestured down. “Here. Sit.”

The crime lord sat reluctantly with a huff. “You really should be careful,” Victor’s voice soft and soothing to Roman’s ears. He wiped his hand on his slacks before taking Roman’s bleeding hand in his own. “Yeah, except this is all that Bitch’s fault!” A sigh escaped his lips as a hand rubbed his back and Roman found his eyes fluttering closed.

A minute seemed to pass before he opened them, stone colored eyes meeting with Victor’s dark brown.

Raising his eyebrows, Victor spoke up, “I’m gonna wrap your hand up all nice and comfy after I take the glass out with these, okay?” In his hand some tweezers he clicked together twice in a playful gesture to ease Roman into a calmer state.

“‘Kay,” came a quiet reply.

Moments passed when finally, the glass was gone. His hand cleaned and in the process of being wrapped in gauze. “You would think she would at least have the decency to fucking...” his thought replaced his anger, “...to fucking park the Rolls-Royce, Zsasz! The fucking Rolls-Royce!” His voice seemed to increase pitch with every sentence, “My Rolls-Royce!”

It had only been hours when they last saw Harley Quinn.

A visit from her friends at the Black Mask club drove her away. Quite literally. God knows why, but she took cover in the car garage finding keys to the Rolls-Royce in the glove box. They had found her, but not before she was already speeding off into a fucking stop light pole. The cocktails taking too much of a toll, apparently.

Calloused hands found themselves atop stiff shoulders. Another moment passed. Victor only spoke when he found Roman at his calmest, his head rolling back over the top of the chair, his eyes closed, “I don’t think it surpasses her selling the heirloom thing”. Zsasz found himself on the receiving end of a sudden glare. His attempt to pacify the car situation failed.

_That was a mistake._

Standing up immediately brought Roman’s vision to a standstill, a bit of nausea running through his system. It didn’t stop him from grabbing at another glass. Victor would remember to refrain from bringing up Harley’s past grievances in future conversations.

“Fuuuuuck!!!” The glass was chucked at the wall cracking against an artifact. The duo watched as the artifact and the glass seemed to fall in slow motion. First came the parts of drinking glass then the artifact. The stone landed with an audible dull thud, the edges crumbling; it left behind the metallic circular ring intact with some bits of stone still held together.

Turning to Victor, Roman looked a bit giddy or rather, relieved. A slight smile on his face. Unbeknownst to him the history of just what that thing is. “Oh, thank God,” Roman took to smoothing out his suit **—** a nice navy blue with a silver sheen to the floral.

He’d taken to liking a collection by one of his favorite actors as of late.

“I’ve been told that one’s haunted,” Roman pointed a thumb behind him, gesturing to the artifact. “A mystery of the Mediterranean, it’s called. Something about the little circles and some ghosts or aliens. They found this one in Egypt,” a sigh. “Hooo...It’s a damn good thing it didn’t break. Imagine what would have happened if it broke. Apparently, there are similar pieces out in this Godforsaken world and they’re connected,” he chuckled.

“Spooky”.

A glance at Victor broke his smile. At first, he took it as a fascination as Victor only nodded along, but a terror seemed to be crawling over his face, “What’s wrong? Is there **—** ”

Roman was cut off by a sudden freezing pain that coursed through his body. He fell to his knees, only then getting a good look at what was happening. A look at his hands and they seemed to be fading away. Everything about him turning to a faint opaque blue.

“Zsasz, what’s happening to me?” he looked up at Victor who was pushing himself further away into the wall, the hopes that whatever the fuck was happening wasn’t happening because _What the actual fuck?_

“Victor, I’m scared,” In such terror, no words could come out, no matter how much he wanted to help Roman.

“Victor, please,” he pleaded. His breath catching in his throat, “Please. Help me...” Roman couldn’t breathe. Whatever the hell seemed to be closing in on him. Suffocating him. Crushing him.

Roman Sionis exhaled one last coarse breath before he felt himself falling forward. His world going black before hitting the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two great things to exist: John Barrowman’s Dobell suits and Stonehenge Apocalypse. I hadn’t watched it in a long time, so I won’t be relying too heavily on it. Maybe I will, I don’t know. So, artifact inspiration courtesy of Stonehenge Apocalypse
> 
> Any thoughts or comments are appreciated. :)


	2. Stretched Across A Frame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos! A little goes a long way, eh?
> 
> As for some notes? There’s been a change to the series name. There's probably a lot of series with that same title, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyways.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka returned from a mission that seemed not so diplomatic, it seems. In favour of their work, the Lord Emperor Arkenayen had bestowed upon them gifts of which seemed ever too kind considering the annoyances they had been put through for the city. 

Especially by Lord Arkenayen himself. 

Being a distasteful man, the trio had been questioning the Lord’s biddings and routines for ruling, but it had been their duty to supervise Arkenayen as he was not uncommonly hated by many. Quite simple, really.

He was to give ruling for an arrangement as a violence broke the land. With the source unknown, fires broke out in peoples’ homes; people lost their jobs due to the companies work buildings bringing their land to ashes.  _ This happened once a week,  _ they were told in their report on the way to the planet Craesenach,  _ But they were beginning to grow more frequent. _ The Lord Emperor had arranged for a compensation to be given to his people out of a facade of kindness which of course was anchored with selfishness to continue his reign. 

Lord Arkenayen had been very open with the Jedi and had he not been, they would have figured so.

Attempt after attempt at assassination, he was able to regain the peoples’ trust. This hadn’t gone without one last attempt, though. They had planned to give the Lord Emperor’s message through a holovid. Many civilians had questioned the tactics, but those many applauded agreeing to having a portion of his son’s fortune. That wasn’t known throughout the city of Janus, but at least they were getting the money they needed.

They were told to  _ leave him alone to do his bidding _ as Heir Num-Allen seemed to only lurk during meetings or dinner. He didn’t go without suspicion as he was caught the day the message was released. An afternoon lunch didn’t go without wine on Craesenach. It was simple to figure out as Ahsoka watched the cooks prepare the meal. A certain heir stopped by and talked to the winemaker. He left carrying the wine, but not without a glare at Ahsoka.

The Jedi sat spread out along the table. A nod was shared between the three of them. Quick discussion before lunch between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan was relayed to Lord Arkenayen. Something had been done to the wine. Force knows what, but they would get down to it. Ahsoka stole a glance at Anakin who sat on the opposite end of the table who had his eyes closed. Focused. She did so, too.

With her eyes closed, she still seemed to clearly see the glass in front of her. A cylinder rounded at the bottom meeting a thinner end for handling. Rough lines separated the different colors, an imitation of the stained glass that brought color to the dining room as the sun poured in.

Ahsoka focused closer on the substance inside. The mixture coming together to form a corn wine. On top sat gold covered ice cubes. Hydrochloride, sulfur, and nitric acids along the wine mixed in to form the poison that sat in front of her. She separated the acids from the wine and heard a subtle bubbling. She did the same for the other drinks she found tainted before opening her eyes. Few glasses were visually bubbling, liquid spilling over the sides and staining the table with burns. A foul smell filled the room sending those sitting at the table to distance themselves.

A sudden movement caught everyone’s attention. Num-Allen moved to grab at the glass sitting in front of a courtier whose drink bubbled. The fast manoeuvre from Num-Allen who attempted to splash the drink at Obi-Wan was stopped as the master Jedi was faster, but it didn’t go without repercussions as little splattered against Obi-Wan’s shielding arm. Lightsabers out, Anakin held tightly to Num-Allen’s arm holding the glass. 

It took a second as the Prince brought his other hand to the glass and quickly downed the poison.

Hands reached towards Heir Num-Allen, but it was too late and a quiet gasp escaped the man before he grasped at his throat; a red spreading to his face and he collapsed to the floor. Dead.

Lightsabers retracted, Obi-Wan dropped his to the side before grabbing at his forearm. The burning of the acid burned through his sleeve onto his skin. A few splatters scattered his hand, the acid turning skin a dark red color.

“We need a medic!” the shout came from Ahsoka opposite Obi-Wan. One of the Lord Emperor’s other courtiers ran from the room fetching one of the many people waiting outside in case of emergency.

A Tholothian made her way across the room rushing to Obi-Wan’s side. He hissed between his teeth as his sleeves were rolled back revealing the acid marks that littered the areas on his forearm from his elbow to his hand.

Damp cloths found their way to cleaning the few specks. “It was a hydrochloride, sulfur, and nitric acid mix,” Obi-Wan looked to Ahsoka, a calm knowledge over his face. He glanced around, everyone in the room quiet from the shock of the sudden event.

“Lord Arkenayen, I suggest we see to it that your courtiers are brought safely to their quarters,” a suggestion from Anakin. A wince escaped Obi-Wan’s lips as the cloth was wrapped around his arm and hand, “We may have only taken care of a portion of your troubles, but...” His eyes came up to meet the Lord Emperor’s, “...there are still the chances that you may still be in danger proving either your son was behind this or part of a bigger picture,”

A nod was shared in agreement as the Lord Emperor and his courtiers were sent on their ways, the Jedi tailing behind the leader.

Three days passed without incident. It had come to terms with Lord Arkenayen that perhaps all was well so he could send the Jedi on their way back to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka returned, retiring to Obi-Wan’s quarters to collect themselves together. They were to attend a mission debriefing with the Jedi Council within an hour. It left time for tea.

A silence hung over the three Jedi as they sipped at their not poisoned drinks. The absence of awkwardness was accepted as it left them all to gather their thoughts. 

One nagging feeling came to Obi-Wan as he eyed one of the gifts from the Craesenach leader. It stood out amongst the others being wrapped in a red wool-like cloth, the others silky and patterned. He picked it up and untied the twine that brought the cloth together. Inside sat a stone with something evidently embedded into it. It was a metallic tubular circle with bars that sat perpendicular in the center. Four raised dots surrounded one in the middle with eight more on the outlying circle.

His hand moved to touch the dots, but was only met with a hot burning pain to his finger tips. A concerned look from his former padawan and grandpadawan at the door brought even more worry to the older Jedi.  _ When did they...? _

“Master, are you okay?” the question came from Ahsoka who came to his side. “Yes. No, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan replied as he wrapped the artifact back in the wool. He sat the twine on top, his left hand incapable of accomplishing the task to tie it back up. “It’s time to go,” Anakin pestered.

They had made it before the door to the Council Chambers, a faint voice inside. The three Jedi entered, a tinge of worry creeping over their expression as they found what seemed to be a man in a hologram whispering a miserable and pained plea.

“Victor, please... Please, help me.” He wore an unusual garb that shined. His labored breaths filled the otherwise silent room full of Jedi masters. The stranger fell to the ground and the blue hologram effect faded away. Whether or not it was his will, he was present there in the Jedi Temple physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My guys, why am I writing? I come to realize that there’s a reason I get bad grades on my English essays rather than my knowledge of it. Perhaps it’s similar to why I got a B+ in Chemistry thanks to one scene. I know things bubble and burn. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> There's a lot of hoping I have that this story goes well.
> 
> Any thoughts or comments are appreciated. :)


	3. Mixed Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! They honestly mean so much!
> 
> Is it okay for AO3 to read a little POV change?
> 
> "AO3 can have a little POV change as a treat."
> 
> Bolded flashbacks
> 
> Anyways.

The words echoed loudly through Victor’s head.

**“...what’s happening to me?”**

**“Victor, I’m scared.”**

Victor Zsasz sat alone in Roman’s apartment. The chair Roman previously occupied adding to the emptiness. Everything seemed... cold.

He looked at the mess left behind in the emotional wake. _Someone should clean that up._ Sitting still was all he felt he could do. The world before him seemed to shift in and out of focus, the lights from the ceiling and lamps turning the floor to a glimmer. _What if this is all a trick?_

Victor found standing up difficult, but he needed to see for himself.

The artifact sat on the floor amongst stone crumbles and glass. Kneeling down, he picked it up and inspected it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A thump sounded throughout the room when he dropped it back onto the floor. It was just a rock. It was just a stupid rock. It was just a stupid _haunted_ rock.

Eyes gazed down the hall. Empty. _Maybe he’s hiding somewhere._

“Hey, boss?” He called out, picking at his bottom lip. Victor walked silent and absentminded.

He would check downstairs.

The memory kept rushing through his thoughts. Replaying over and over and over again.

**In his anger, Roman seized hold of the glass with his damaged hand. He drew his arm back, jaw clenched tightly as he made his move. Victor shifted, reaching out, but with the motion too quick, he came across as useless to stop it. The glass flew through the air. Victor watched with wide eyes as it exploded on impact.**

The Black Mask Club was all but dark. Vacant.

**It hit the bottom corner of the artifact, swinging it in the other direction. The stone swung off of the hook it hung from. Falling with a scrape down the wall, it smashed into pieces. Glass crashing after. Sharp pieces dispersed. The sound distinct and echoing. Roman’s eyes met his worried gaze. A corner of his mouth turned up, smirk showing he wasn’t in complete contempt. If he was, it didn’t appear that way.**

Outside. There should be something outside. Outside where a call for Roman came without a reply.

**“Oh, thank God.”**

**A sigh of relief. Roman brought his hands up brushing away at his suit. Clearing off the wrinkles and glass either literal or figuratively, the silver and blue of the silk glinted in the low lighting. The floral that spanned the suit glistening. Might as well have had glass sewn in.**

Breathing heavily, he stood exhausted in the kitchen. Unused.

**“I’ve been told that one’s haunted.”**

**Roman motioned to the stone. Victor could tell he was saying words, but they didn’t register. He glanced at the artifact. The thing. It glowed dimly at first, but grew brighter by the second. A glint of light and he looked at Roman who seemed to be...** **_fading?_ ** **Victor blinked. Confused. Scrunching his eyes, it took too much thought to put together what was happening. Incomprehensible.**

Behind the bar.

**“Spooky.”**

**An exhalation.**

Deserted.

**“What’s wrong? Is there—”**

**Something broke through Roman’s presence as he tensed up. Victor took in the look that crossed his face. The discomfort of an agony he couldn’t feel. Roman crumpled in on himself, pain eliciting a groan. His focus fixed on his hands.** **_Fading._ **

Car garage.

**“Zsasz, what’s happening to me?”**

Empty.

**Terror broke inside Victor. He couldn’t move, but he found himself against one of the pillars. The gravity of the apartment seemed to shift ever so slightly, nothing about this situation sat right with either of them.**

**“Victor, I’m scared.”**

**He seldom used his name unless in apprehensive conditions. It hurt so see him so hurt.**

**“Victor, please. Please. Help me...” Victor wanted to help. He wanted nothing more than to help.**

**_Fucking Move! Move! Go To Him! Son Of A Bitch! Just Move! Go! He Needs Your Help! Help Him!_ **

Roman’s bedroom.

**A hand reached out too late.**

Empty.

**The glass Roman threw hit the wall, the stone smashed apart, the disintegrated glass twinkled, pieces of how the artifact came to be, Roman’s utter agony, how he called for Victor’s help, silence.**

Empty.

**Glass shattering, the stone breaking, rustling of shards, Roman’s facts, his audible distress, his plea, silence.**

Empty.

**Crash, thud, crackling, words, a whimper, a cry, silence.**

Empty.

When push came to shove, at least in previous situations, he knew where Roman went. 

A tear streamed down his face. Then came his thoughts. _Where the fuck is he?_

_When is he going to come back? What if he never comes back? What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen downstairs? Who’s responsible for this? Is the world going to collapse in on itself?_

_Is Roman fucking dead?_

“Roman!” He rounded the corner. The tessellation of naked figures stark against the crimson. _What’s happening to him?_

Continuing past the corner mirror brought him to the room. _The_ Room. Victor had hardly ever gone to the room. The apartment was quiet, but an eeriness crept along his bones. An eeriness that made you feel like you were drowning in it. A buzzing rang loud in his ears. It was so goddamn loud.

A sudden silence.

The Black Mask.

It’s empty eyes seemed to glare holes into his soul. _Fucking find me, you useless fuck._

“Roman!”

**TTTTT**

Obi-Wan rushed to his side kneeling about to place a calming hand on the stranger’s back before he was stopped by a sudden call, “Obi-Wan, no,” a worried expression sat upon Mace Windu’s face.

“He must be taken to the Halls of Healing.”

Mace stood up making his way over to the fallen man. The slow hand of Mace came down on the man’s shoulder. He made the move to turn the man over. Cautiously, Obi-Wan reached over touching at the silky sleeve, unsure whether his touch would mean harm to the man or himself.

What he found took Obi-Wan back. This man wore his same face, albeit there was brown instead of copper hair. Rough rubble where there was a beard.

Mumbling erupted amongst the Jedi Masters. In all the galaxy, how did a man with a likeliness to Obi-Wan Kenobi find himself here? The technological advancements in teleportation haven’t been perfected, but here laid a man who proved it was possible. How did he find them? There was another person in the picture, who was that? Why this moment?

Panic set in as the unconscious man gave a rather bloody cough. As if on cue, healers burst through the door. He was lifted carefully into the medical capsule and out the door they went.

Obi-Wan had set to follow, before he was again stopped in his tracks. “Master Kenobi.”

He turned around finding too many eyes set on him. “The mission debriefing. I apologize.”

“That you find the answers you seek, see to it I will. With such a situation we are burdened, questions many of us have.

“If at all, the counsel shall press that you are the one to solve this mystery.”

**TTTTT**

_Roman!_

Roman awoke, his eyes squinting in the lights that poured down onto him. “What the fuck,” his voice breathy, throat dry.

His hands moved to rub the sleepiness away, but he found his hands at his sides in restraints. Roman sat up, blinking away his lightheadedness. A few rough jerks against his restraints proved to be useless and he resorted to attempting to pull his hands through the cuffs, the plastoid beginning to press a pink circle around his wrists. Another quick tug and he stopped, a realization as he looked at his previously bloodied knuckles. His hand seemed to be mostly healed except for what seemed to be little nicks.

A quick exhalation and he came to the conclusion that perhaps _dislocation of my thumb_ _should do._

Turning his wrist he moved his thumb to sit underneath his other fingers. _Just a quick mmmmm._ Just a quick tug and his hand would be free. _Just a pull._ He has done it before. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to pain. He just wasn’t typically the one in custody. He was the one doing the custody-ing. Any time he was in restraints, he thought it to be defiling and it left a mark of disappointment in himself in his consciousness. Roman drew in a slow breath **—**

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Roman’s head snapped to the left. The voice from out of nowhere left him to sit in shock. _What the fuck._ The man sat in a chair leg crossed over the other. One hand played at his beard while the other rested on the arm rest. _What the fuck._ He had a younger complexion, but he carried a maturity in his eyes. _What the fuck._

The galaxy had a large vastness to it. It was said that there would be at least a small handful of people who had a similarity to your own self. But the chances...

“Where the hell am I? Who the fuck are you?” Roman pulled at his wrists, the abuse of plastoid pressing into his skin started to cut deep.

“You need to stop.”

Stronger hands tightened against his forearms, the struggle came to be useless in any efforts.

“Let fucken go of me! Get your hands fucking off!”

“It’s not my intention to hurt you, but you are only making things worse. You need to calm down.”

“If I wasn’t in this fucking situation, maybe I would! Just get your fucking hands off!”

 _A chance at calm?_ Roman felt the tight grip ease off. This was unacceptable. A mock facade of calm swept over his face.

“See, that wasn’t so fucken hard was it?” He smiled the most gentle smile he could muster before **—**

“Now, get out of my fucking face!” Roman surged forward, spitting in the other man’s face. There was an annoyance to him as he wiped the spit with his sleeve, but he still kept his calm outward demeanor.

“Listen, I know you have questions. I know you want answers,” he sat back down in the chair with a huff folding his hands together to rest on his knees. “You seem like a shoot first, questions after kind of man. So, I only ask you cooperate should we find the solution to this ordeal.”

_Ordeal was correct._

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Somehow you turned up here in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.”

Roman knew this Obi-Wan spoke English, but what the hell was half of what he said?

“I **—** I... Jedi? I don’t...” he shook his head as his brows furrowed in a deep confusion “Coruscant?”

Obi-Wan moved to the windows. A bright light was shining through the curtains, but pulling it back allowed it to flow in. Roman covered his eyes and squinted. His eyes quickly adjusted and what he saw before him shocked him to his core. 

Sunlight illuminating the world before him, skyscrapers towered above. With so many buildings, you’d think that perhaps they would block the sun, but with the windows that lined each floor, it only added to the brightness. The city below shining and bustling with life. Waves of people covered the streets with places to go and places to be. 

There was a slight familiarity to it, something akin to Gotham. Maybe something to do with the buildings... Little did Roman know, Coruscant was a planet-wide city. Millions upon millions created the population occupying the thousands of levels. 

Anchoring his awe in this world were the vehicles. Flying cars whizzed through the sky in organized traffic. Lines sat side by side, criss-crossing over and under each other. The faint buzzing of the engines he heard through the glass, glinting in the light as they drove by. The sky bright blue in the afternoon.

“Coruscant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I wanted to get into the crack of things and just start out with the Ewan McGregors meeting, but that was not meant to be apparently and thus began an actual story lmao
> 
> It has occurred to me that, “Oh, you fool. You basically rewrote the same chapter.” ¯\\_(._.)_/¯ Some chapters, such as this one, may be quite longer depending on the different point of views. But thanks for bearing with me. :)


	4. Blunt Application

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends! Have a longer chapter in return for my sins. This chapter is a bit late, I got excited about something and spent a day working on it and boy... Hoo. There were also finals this week. :/ So, that’s a party.
> 
> You’ll find the chapters varying in length, not just from changing the different parts of the story, but as I find myself putting together said tale.
> 
> Thanks for putting up with my writing :)
> 
> Bolded flashbacks
> 
> Anyways.

One day was enough time for Roman to gather his thoughts. One day of tests, emotional fits, information dumps, confusion. 

One day of utter boredom.

He was to be discharged today from the Halls of Healing, _ whatever the hell kind of pretentious place that named a hospital Halls of Healing. _

Roman sat on the edge of the bed, with the onset of a migraine, his hand playing at the band that stuck to his right wrist. It’s been there since the beginning.  _ What the fuck is happening?  _ With the lights dim, the sun shone through the window. It added a paleness to the room already stark white. He wore something of a white tunic and trousers. So dull.

His gaze fixed on the outside world. The hover cars never ceased to fly by.

**They drew his blood, the capsule dark crimson as it was filled. He sat in silence, a fit of rage happening only minutes ago. He hated when people touched him. His thought of what Obi-Wan had said the previous day.**

“I know how much you want to get out of here, Roman. That’s fine. Cooperate and you will be discharged. From there on, we can figure out how to get you home.”

More silence between Roman and Obi-Wan. They couldn’t help for those moments; it allowed them to gather their thoughts. Besides, what else would you say when suddenly your doppelganger comes from thin air.  _ Oh, hi. It’s good to see you. How’s life at home? How’s the wife or husband, I don’t judge. Ah, you’re not married. Any pets? _

“How long is it?”

  
“How long is what?”

A glance down from Roman made a slight blush crawl across Obi-Wan’s face. A bit of embarrassment, but Roman wouldn’t be able to tell. He crossed his legs, resting his left foot loosely on his right knee, unclasping his hands and folded his arms. “You aren’t at liberty to discuss such personal things.”

“Oh, c’mon... If we’re going to be spending time with each other, we might as well know.”

“We’ve only just met and learned each other’s names. Surely, I should also tell you I feel I may have single handedly started the war we are currently in.”

_ Huh? _

**Meeting his own doppelganger was strange enough as it was. But, a fucking alien? A fucking alien just walks through the door as if she owns the place. That is and always will be the most unexpected.**

**Startling enough as it was for everyone in the room, Roman jerked away towards the head of the bed, “What the fuck!”**

**A quiet chaos ensued as Roman pushed back in protest.**

**“There’s no way. What the fuck,” He said crying out. “This has to be a fucking dream.”**

**A push on his mind slurred the memory into a blur. “It’s just a dream.”**

Roman blinked the memory away.  _ What the hell was that? _ It wasn’t your average everyday alien. Then again,  _ what exactly was your average everyday alien? E.T.? _ He remembers blue. It was blue.

The hissing of the sliding door interjected. Seemingly endless conversations brought Obi-Wan to be the only constant he was familiar with in this Godforsaken world. Maybe too familiar in a way.

“You’re finally awake.” He entered the room, a look of amusement in his eyes. “It seems you’ve given everyone a rightful trouble.” Obi-Wan leaned up against the wall across from Roman. 

“Especially our Chief Healer”

**The man was lifted from the medical capsule onto the bed. Vokara Che hadn’t received any information concerning his situation besides his sudden appearance and collapse. His breaths were quick and shallow and sweat seemed to gather on his brow. Her hand to his forehead felt hot in return. A fever, if his condition didn’t seem to worsen.**

**Jacket removed, a shirt under. Blankets were laid over legs. Any blood was removed from where it shouldn’t be. An IV hung down and was inserted in the arm.**

**A quarter past, Master Yoda entered with Master Windu and Kenobi at his side as it fared best that they would be at the highest degree to describe what happened and how they should go about this business.**

**Bloodshot eyes opened wide. The man in the bed sat up straight and he looked down at the IV, ripping it right out.**

**“Where the hell am I?” A hand to his shoulder settled with a calm purpose. “Don’t fucking touch me!”**

**The Force surged through the air, medical equipment flying left and right.**

**More hands moved to restrain, “Let me go!”**

**“Get your fucking hands off of me!” A clench of his fist and more equipment lost its place. “We don’t want to hurt you.”**

**“Fuck!” Another pulse of energy sent a healer to the ground.**

**“We’re here to help you.”**

**“Fuck off!”**

**It was about time before a sleep suggestion fell upon him; no one seemed to want to further the situation, to work with this man, let alone be in the same room.**

**Obi-Wan made his way and had placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.**

**“Relax,” came his suggestion and the man seemed to faint back into unconsciousness.**

**“You overdid it.”**

**TTTTT** ****

They walked in silence, Roman a step or two behind Obi-Wan, his dark brown robe flowing behind him. The two passed fellow Jedi, but it grew to be nerve racking for Roman only hearing hushed whispers around him. They seemed to be aimed at him. An outsider.

_ They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me. What are they saying? Why can’t they just look away. Just disappear. This is a dream. They’re mocking me. _

Roman hadn’t realized Obi-Wan had stopped walking as he inadvertently bumped into the man. He shed his robe and hung it over Roman’s shoulders. Roman brought the hood over his eyes, his attempt to become hidden adding a comfort as well, the cloak itself being quite warm.

“Roman, ignore it,” he said as he continued forward, but never ceasing his one sided conversation. “Rumors tend to spread quickly inside and outside of the Jedi Order. Healers spoke word that a man appeared who looked like me and of course people are curious.”

“Obviously, you’re here, so it’s true. It’s quite unlikely that two men look and sound similar, even more so when not by birth. People are people; they’re often in awe when something as far as they can tell is impossible comes true.”

Obi-Wan hardly knew the man who walked at his side. His arrogant nature pushed away any means he had to make it easier.

**“Roman Sionis. Crime lord from Gotham City. New York. US. Planet Earth.”**

**_There isn’t a planet Earth within the galaxy I’ve heard of, that would perhaps be in the archives, but for Force sakes, a crime lord? That’s— That’s not important. Focus._ **

**“Do you remember what happened before you appeared here? Anything at all?”**

**“I was having a nice dinner with my right-hand man when something pulled me to your world. All blue and glowy.”**

**_That isn’t enough._ **

**“How would you spell Earth?”**

**“E, A, R, T, H. Are you fucking dumb?”**

“I spoke with the council this morning. They thought it best that you stay with me until you are able to return to your planet.  I hope that is acceptable to you.”

Roman hummed in return. He had no other options. He didn’t want to stay in a hospital room all day and he certainly didn’t want to be in this Jedi Temple on this alien city planet. He didn’t want to be in a different universe.

He just wanted to go home.

Back to Gotham.

**“...Are you fucking dumb?”**

**_I might just be, those aren’t characters I recognize. Ee, Ay, Ar, Tee, Aych._ **

**“Perhaps. You may be using different characters from the Galactic Basic we’re used to here.”**

**_‘English, motherfucker. Do you speak it?’_ ** **The quote ran through Roman’s head. Clearly, Obi-Wan did.** **_Galactic Basic, my ass._ **

**“No, listen here. Do you have like... paper?”**

**Obi-Wan reached to a side table and pulled off a sheet of transparent paper? He onced over for information, finding none and handed it to Roman along with a writing utensil.**

**“Roman is spelled R, O, M, A, N.” He took each letter to the flimsiplast, each letter more intricate than the Aurebesh Obi-Wan was used to.**

**_Ar, Oh, Em, Ay, En._ **

**Learning to read and write Aurebesh at three years old was one thing, but to learn a new character set to the same spoken language was something else.**

**“May I?” The Jedi took the flimsi handed to him to write, what he thought, would be Roman’s name in Aurebesh. He took a minute to ponder each individual sound, suddenly feeling like a youngling who didn’t know how to use the refresher. Mando’a and Twi’leki were different.**

**_Roh, Mmin. It should at least carry the same amount of characters that he used._ **

**“Resh, Osk, Mern, Aurek, Nern.”**

**Back and forth, word after word. Roman found it easy enough with each Aurebesh letter matching the first sound of the Alphabet. Obi-Wan, not so much.**

**Alphabet, Aurebesh. Alpha beta, Aurek besh. They made the connection early on.**

**_E, A, R, T, H._ **

**_Ee, Ay, Ar, Tee, Aych. Esk, Aurek, Resh, then Thesh, technically._ **

**_Some progress. Better than nothing. Perhaps, this isn’t a lost cause._ **

“I’ve checked the Jedi Archives for your planet, Earth. Correct?” without turning his head, Obi-wan’s glance was met with another quiet nod. “It doesn’t seem to have existed at all. The last time something similar happened, the planet was erased from the archives. I suspect either the same has happened or you are from much farther past the Outer Rim.”

An elevator, a few more corridors and Obi-Wan came to a stop in front of a metal door. A touch to the frame and it slid open with a quiet hiss. Just about to enter, when the pair stopped in their tracks by a voice that called out to them. Or rather— 

“Obi-Wan!” The Jedi turned to face Mace Windu headed in their direction. Either he was upset or he tended to always look intimidating, Obi-Wan shuffled backwards a bit. It always seemed to be the latter. 

Bowing in respect, Obi-Wan addressed the other Jedi, “Master—”

“Oh, my God. You’re Samuel L. Jackson.”

Both men turned to Roman who appeared rather giddy in his exile of sorts, “Who?”

“You’re in Pulp Fiction.”

“What is this Pulp Fiction?” A literary piece if Mace Windu went by the title. He wouldn’t take Roman to be one to read, but  _ the day has been full of surprises. What’s another? _

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t play fucken coy with me. You played Jules in Pulp Fiction.”  _ A performance then. _

“Master Windu, I believe it would suffice to say that you have a counterpart who is an entertainer in Roman’s universe.” Obi-Wan gestured to his own, “Roman here being evidence of the point.”

With a sigh, Obi-Wan ran his hands over his face, “I suggest to prevent any further confusion, we should refrain from any other mentions of your universe unless by the will of discussion of your return.”

“‘Kay,” Roman said in reply, hands held up in defense. Pause in discussion left them with an expectancy for more of Roman’s remarks.

“Obi-Wan, I thought I would see to it that I personally inform you that the Council requires your individual presence on the matter within an hour. Having been released from the Halls of Healing, it’s vital that we discuss our situation here.”

“Of course,” with a bow to each other, Mace Windu went off to his duties.

A quiet ‘what the fuck’ from behind him.

Entering the living space, the lights dimmed on. It seemed mostly barren besides a few things scattered about; a dish here and there, a few books it looked like, cloth wrapped packages on the table, plants sat near the window overlooking the city-planet.

Roman sat with a heavy breath on a couch, a hand over his face. The beating in his temple throbbing intensely by the second and  _ by God it fucking hurt _ .

Across the room, Obi-Wan picked up a wrapped package from the table. Something dropped as he lifted it, a string, as it tilted and he picked it up, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Obi-Wan headed into his room, dark and  _ rather a bit dusty _ from disuse. A hand against the wall and a gentle push popped open a hidden compartment. He settled it down next to a few small boxes and another wrapped package. Some treasures he held dear.

About to close it, he took one more glance at the red cloth covered artifact. Something drew him to it, something tugged at his hand to look one more time. Pulling the cloth aside revealed the stone yet again, the grey appearing brighter somehow. The tug again— 

“Obi-Wan, hey!” A call from the living room brought him back to the present. 

_ I will have to figure this out another time. _

With the drawer closed, he moved to pick up a pile of neatly folded clothes that sat on a table near the door. Obi-Wan attended to the call and sat next to Roman, angling himself to face his doppelganger. “My apologies,” the other man looked a bit disheveled. In pain. “You alright? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, ‘m feeling funky... got a headache.”  _ Funky was different from fuck.  _ Obi-Wan thought to himself.  _ Whatever that meant. I would have to ask later. Different connotations and all. _

Standing up he made his way to a cabinet near the table.  _ The painkillers have to be somewhere. _ Rarely used, Obi-Wan favored alternate methods of getting rid of pain. Of course physically healing, but also meditation. 

_ Ah, there.  _

He returned to Roman’s side with a glass of water in one hand, the capsule with the pain medication on top of the clothes balanced in the other.

“Take two,” he instructed as he presented the pile of clothes to the other man, “I’m guessing you want out of the bland white. These are your clothes, but I took to getting another pair of clothes better fit for your new surroundings.”

“The only ones to seemingly wear your kind of attire are politicians.”

_ Oh, ew. Politicians. But, a jab at comedy, nonetheless. Bravo.  _ It was different from his straightforwardness that he spoke with.  _ That’s nice, I guess. _

An involuntary look at the chrono that hung on the wall brought a panic to Obi-Wan. It ran its course through him, and breathing steadily, he released it into the Force, nothing short of unbearable. Even after all these years he managed to at least  _ want  _ to be on time, having pressed the importance of being prompt to meetings with the Jedi council many years before with his former teacher. “ _ I must have picked it up from you, Master,”  _ he’s thought countless times.

“Who you met earlier is Jedi Master Mace Windu. However talented this... Samuel L. Jackson is in acting, I can assure you that they are not the same man,” the situation grew more complicated by the second. Roman wouldn’t cooperate, leaving Obi-Wan to run from place to place trying to piece things together, but he had a meeting to go to.

“You may have heard him earlier... I am to attend a council meeting with the other Jedi Masters, but I will be back as soon as I can. The refresher is over there. Your bedroom is the one left of the room where I was, in case you want to rest. You may need it.”

With that and a glance back for reassurance, the Jedi left.

**TTTTT**

A sigh escaped his lips. This was the third meeting in 24 hours.

“Obi-Wan, my concern comes from what we witnessed the night of the incident. Before he woke, the healers took to testing Roman’s blood and his midichlorian count... Numbers came to 13,400.”

He stared down at the ground in thought. “That’s the same as my own.” It wasn’t usual for the council to break turn in speaking, but murmurs broke out as this has never been a situation such as this. 

“Do you think it would be wise for him to learn the ways of the Jedi?”

“His emotions are unstable. Roman has no purpose here. It will only bring a ruin to himself or the Jedi.”

“What use would his training be? To go through training at this time of his life— ”

“I think it would be wise that we send him elsewhere. This man is dangerous. Full of anger. Hatred.”   
  
“It would be foolish to think that he could be taught. To be taught to control the force is unacceptable. He would use it for his own self-indulgence.”

“Masters,” interjecting the commotion, Obi-Wan lifted his gaze from the ground, a silence returned as attention was brought to him.

“As much as I oppose saying it, I have felt a connection between us. Not entirely from us looking similar, but  _ there is _ something else. I know not what it is, but it’s there.”

“That anger and hatred? It is not something of the Dark side. Roman’s world is different. The force on his world seems to be that of only lingering. There is no Light or Dark. It’s the matter of action and the opinion of the populace that brings to show if you’re... good or bad. He has given inappreciable answers to my questions, but I feel they should suffice. I’ve seen pieces of Roman’s life. He is not at fault for becoming the man he is. He has found happiness by his way of coping to achieve composure. I ask that, within reason, I would be able to teach him. If not in the ways of the Jedi, at least in emotional stability. I believe that suppressing his connection to the force here adds to Roman’s irritation and as well as to his headaches and pain. It proves beneficial as he will be needing to stay here until we are able to find a solution to this problem. And if he should be able to return to his home planet, then it shall benefit him there. It might also aid in solving this... Mystery of sorts. Being a highly unfavorable suggestion between a majority of the council, I understand. But that is all I ask.”

Obi-Wan felt a disappointment in himself, his request became rambling. His way to the council meeting had been enough time he needed to compose what thoughts he had, but more came in the process. Obi-Wan had wanted to touch on each piece, but it became jumbled speech. If this didn’t go through, Force knows what would happen to Roman. He couldn’t live with the mistake he made of being disorganized. Each thought and want and need spilled from his mouth without the heart’s approval. It was just said.

Small whispers filled the council chambers. A share of a few nods. The council’s approval.

“Roman Sionis is to be taken under your care, Obi-Wan. As a precaution, we ask that you are to report to the council at the end of the day for show of any developments or regression.”

“Thank you, masters,” he said as he bowed. “You have my gratitude.”

There was an expectation that kept at Obi-Wan from the start. Something amicable that... calmed the discomfort of unfamiliarity. Something from long ago,

**“It’s— It’s too late.”** **_No—_ ** **“Obi-Wan.”**

_ Oh. But—  _

**“Promise- Promise me you will train the boy.”** **_Yes, Master._ **

**“He... is the Chosen One. He... Will... Bring balance. Train him.”**

_ Roman Sionis is not Anakin Skywalker. I’ve trained Anakin for ten years. He’s my padawan. Was. Was my padawan. _

Obi-Wan’s scattered thoughts plagued him on his way back to his quarters.

_ I’ve only just met Roman. Some man that just happened to look and sound like myself... _

_ Jedi Knights and Masters could have more than one padawan in their lifetime. That was normal. _

_ Why do I feel the responsibility of having a new padawan when it comes to training Roman? Am I really training him? _

_ I’ve really only trained Anakin, the assumption that I would take Ahsoka under my wing when she came along _ ...

_ Roman was a stranger. Someone who happened to materialize before them. He was someone who, given the chance, would take that killing shot.  _

_ He was a crime lord! He indubitably must have had people murdered. Must have killed people himself. Should I have told the council? _

_ It wouldn’t help the maladaptive part of his personality being on a new planet albeit in a new galaxy. _

_ Roman was arrogant and hot headed. Made moves with his first thought, though he was intelligent. He was a man who had only ever known his own life. He didn’t take into consideration that he wasn’t important. Not that he wasn’t, but with what little I put together from the amount of information that he gave me... _

_ I’m just relieved he’s willing to work with me at all. I have to keep that trust... _

_ A murderer, killing people, torturing, kidnapping. These aren’t the qualities that should be admired in the Jedi. There were the few who left the Jedi Order perhaps some leaving to go and do... _

_ Roman wouldn’t do that here. I won’t let him. _

_ He’s a stranger. He’s a stranger that needs my help. I must see to it I treat him in such a way. _

_ Yet, he feels like a brother, but he isn’t. He is not.  _

_ Attachment is forbidden. _

_ So what is it? _

_ Roman had to be here for a reason. If it was the will of the Force, so be it.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope it's enjoyable. 
> 
> There’s a lot of holes in the dialogue, but I’ll make up for it, I swear. I’ll try to see to putting up the chapter after on the 4th
> 
> Any kudos and comments are great! I cherish them with all my being


	5. Color Selection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I wanted to get this chapter up on the 4th? Yeah, here it is more than a month later. 
> 
> I’ve taken this break thinking about the story here and there and just kind of figuring things out. I’ve also taken to watching Birds of Prey more than enough times because I’ve also felt that Roman has been a bit out of character. I haven’t become any better a writer because of the break, unfortunately - so you’re going to have to hang on to my high school grade English. Oh, to be decent writer.
> 
> Forewarning of self-harm
> 
> Anyway.

It would take a familiar face to spot the black haired man in the crowded city of Janus. Nobody gave a kark about who you were. Won’t give a second glance. Not a side eye in your direction, even if you wore a kaadu as a hat.

Dragging his foot along the streets, he ground black chalk into dust, pressing it into the pavement. It was an unnamed rule; don’t color within the lines. In his case, it was different to be the one to draw the lines.

Gi-Iadriano Erveiphoze was a recognized artist, but not recognized enough that people knew his name. The Banksy of Craesenach, if you will. No one had such an ambition that they would be recognized planet-wide, no one would even try now that it was his place. It wasn’t his intention.

It would never be.

His murals covered walls and streets and buildings and plant life. They told stories of war and love and nature and art. Taking a look in any direction, you could see the black bordered flow of colors upon colors. Layers of paint engulfed the city, others would attempt to show their mark, but it would be disregarded; in place huge swirls and mixes of pinks, greens, reds, blues. Any color one could imagine never went without use.

He made it to the end where road met city wall. Gi-Iadriano looked behind him at his work before him, the sixth and final arm of the city sat packed full of people lining the streets walking upon swirling black lines waiting to be filled with color.

At the base of the wall, he placed a fresh piece of chalk before taking up place near the city arm’s entrance arch where he focused on the chalk across. A slight pressure and it pushed against the barrier. Up and over, across the line here, nothing different from working on the ground below.

He would let his imagination and innovation take it from here.

Men, women and children gathered; the enchantment of the way the chalk moved on its own with such fluidity captivated them. Excitement bursting through the air as they couldn’t wait to see what would become of this next masterpiece. It brought a sad satisfaction to the artist as he ate his afternoon meal.

Nobody has put two and two together to realize that the buildings with those _oh so beautiful_ paintings on them were targets.

Just a while longer.

**TTTTT**

“Roman—”

Upon Obi-Wan’s return, the abundance of broken glass took him by surprise. What little furniture he had was overturned. Holobooks scattered, cups broken, potted plants lay on their side. Having messy quarters was the least of his worries, though he liked it clean. The door to Roman’s room sat opened, lightly spilt blood leading in. Knocking lightly, he peered in. “Roman?”

A tuft of hair stuck out almost hidden by the other side of the bed. Obi-Wan moved slowly, quietly, not wanting to startle the other. Roman sat on the floor against the bedside, legs tucked against his chest. A hand laid loosely on the ground, eyes pressed into the other across his knees. Asleep.

Obi-Wan called out once more, “Roman,” the thought that perhaps a gentle touch would do. Moving his hand slowly to settle on Roman’s shoulder, the gentle touch did more than enough. Roman lurched away; terror, shock, fear pulled across his tear stained face. 

“Fuck! Don’t touch me!” Up against the wall, he held his hands out in defense, Obi-Wan doing the same. “Obi— Obi-Wan?” It wasn’t at all clear what had happened in Roman Sionis’ life, but inevitably one thing must have led to another. His reaction to every situation didn’t sit right with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan took a step forward, “Yes, Roman. It’s just me,” Roman pressed himself further against the wall moving away from the other. 

“Don’t fucking move!”

A step.

“I said, don’t fucking move!” A fist towards Obi-Wan’s head was stopped with his own hand. The hand in his own was firm, a good punch with a powerful intention, though it tremored. Another quick movement to his face from Roman.

He pushed angry fists down to the side, “Roman, please.” The tension in Roman’s hands loosened and he pulled away pushing back again against the wall. A quiet realisation crossed his face. _Solid._

Roman slid down slowly, a sob broke from his lips. “It’s all real. Why is this happening to me?” With his left hand balled into a fist, he brought his right hand to scratch at his forearm. “It can’t be— It can’t be real.” Anxiety rolled through him with every thought. Of being in such a different world. Of being in such a different universe. The unfamiliarity had shocked him to his core. _Obi-Wan_ shocked him to his core. 

_How did this connect? How did this happen? What’s going on? What’s happening? Why?_

Unbeknownst to him, he had spoken his thoughts aloud, words jumbling together incoherently. The scratching grew more intense, the pressure of nails digging into his skin as it broke, soft flakes of skin sticking to the moisture of pus and blood gathering on his arm.

“It’s real. It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t be fucken real.”

Obi-Wan held Roman’s neck pressing him into his chest, Roman’s arms parted from each other; from the infliction of pain. One trapped between them, the other dropped to the side. An elbow dug into his rib, but that wasn’t important. There was a struggle he felt as Roman turned his hand to grab onto his tabards.

“Breathe, Roman. Just breathe” 

With minutes, his hyperventilation slowed. Obi-Wan could feel him quivering, choked sobs turned into shaky inhalations and slow breaths out. He wasn’t eager to give hugs at all, but in the end, it had helped. 

A distant but vivid memory was Anakin. 

The pain and anguish. The realisation of losing his arm. Through their bond flooded emotions. He wished dearly to offer his own strength. To have been the one instead to feel debilitated. 

The pain and anguish. The realisation of losing his mother. Obi-Wan had never really known his own mother. There wasn’t a sure feeling of what Anakin was feeling besides what he passed on to Obi-Wan through their bond as he held him. The memory choked his breath for a moment. Now.

 _Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs._

_Master._

An intake of breath.

“This is real, Roman.” His hand smoothed down Roman’s back for a try at comfort. “You are real. Your blood is real. Your pain is real. The ground beneath you is real. The air you’re breathing is real. Hold on to it,” There was another shaky breath before he continued, “I’m so sorry, Roman. But, I am real. Everything around you is real.”

“Why?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to answer that question. It offered no specificity, he didn’t know what Roman wanted in his reply.

“Because.”

There was a slow nod he felt against his shoulder in acceptance.

“Let’s get you cleaned up then, shall we?”

Together they moved slowly to the bed. Obi-Wan left for supplies, Roman alone to his immediate guilt and thoughts. His knuckles a pale white against the black tunic he wore, he raised his eyebrows at the sight. Shallow cuts faint scars. _Oh?_ Pulling back his sleeve to reveal the freshly made wound became a painful task, the black fabric stuck to open skin tissue, discharge staining or lint staying in place. 

“Fuck.”

It had been years since he last harmed himself in such a way. Over time, he found distractions and _Victor. Oh my God. Victor. Where was he? Did he—_

“I was going to ask,” Obi-Wan stood in the doorway. “I took it to be an expletive, until you said ‘funky’.”

“It’s— It’s an expletive, yeah. It can mean a lot of things. Profanity. That kinda thing,” _Is Obi-Wan— Are the Jedi not allowed to swear? Is it kind of like that ‘_ Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain _’ thing with, like, heck? Or_ gosh _? Ew._ “Funky is like...”

He took a moment to think — _What was ‘funky’?_

“Funky’s kind of... it can mean— Ow! Fuck!” It never registered in Roman’s mind that Obi-Wan had moved to start on his arm. He was lightly dabbing a small damp cloth over the wound, the white of a kind of cotton turning a discolored yellow.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in a mock curiosity, “‘Ow, fuck’?”

“No, fuck off,” a roll of his eyes and he carried on, “Funk, first of all, is a type of music. I suppose ‘funky’s got a mostly bad connotation depending on the situation.”

“Oh?”

“‘...this bread tastes funky, your hair looks funky, that kinda thing,”

“I see.”

Obi-Wan took to trying to distract him with his questions, which was working, but a quick and quiet thought dawned on him that they were to learn together. Obi-Wan may never visit Roman’s Earth, but that whatever the case, any and all knowledge could help in tying things together.

_Even the knowledge of expletives._

There was a silence between them, a kind of intimacy as Obi-Wan finished cleaning up the wound. A slow glance as he took in Roman’s forearm littered with faint scars in the shape of crosses.

“Don't mind them, they’re old,”

“I’m guessing you don’t have bacta on Earth,”

“Mmhmm.”

Obi-Wan had opened a white colored jar. With two fingers he smoothed some onto Roman’s arm before engaging in massage-like movement.

“Ew, is that bacta?”

“Yes, are you allergic to Ambori?” It wasn’t quite often one would find themselves allergic to the mix. In any case, there were other means they had to aid in taking care of injuries.

“What? No, it’s just gross and warm and... slimy,” 

That often came the common complaint. Obi-Wan would never wish it on another person, but the thought of Roman in the position of having to be submerged in a bacta tank crossed his mind. _He would not enjoy that at all._ -

“Well, I was going to use a bacta patch, but I suggest you resort to properly dressing your wounds should you want the tissue to heal correctly. Helps to rid of the scarring. If you’d like I can— “

“No, it's fine.” Roman cut in.

“Right, I had assumed so.”

Picking up the supplies, they stood up together. Roman heaved a sigh looking down at himself then to the pile of clothes.

“I should uhh...”

“Of course.”

  
  
  


At the windowed wall, the fascination of a child etched across Roman’s face as he watched the world fall into action before him. It was a striking difference to the man he had held earlier falling apart in his arms. Obi-Wan could have let him sit at the window all day if he wanted. “I see you’ve taken a liking to your new clothes.”

Roman sported a black undershirt below static grey tunics with black tabards that draped over his shoulders and sat tucked into a belt. Light brown trousers folded into darker brown boots that came up to his knee. “It’s certainly a look. Different, but it’ll have to do.”

Taking a step forward, Obi-Wan straightened out Roman’s tabards untucking a piece of the fabric to sit over his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure how to put it all together, I just had to kinda... remember how you looked.”

It was odd, the strange calmness that overtook Roman. Between the rage and the anxiety, there was a tinge of doubt and that maybe he was just those things mashed together into a man. Obi-Wan knew better than that, though. Roman could improve and Obi-Wan would help him along the way. “I do apologise for the time, the meeting took a while,”

“A long fucken while, that’s for fucken sure.”

The sun was now setting. Orange cast about the planet, soft reflections in the windows _and holy shit, the sun’s fucking huge. Jesus Christ._

“Would you be hungry by any chance?”  
  
  
  


Obi-Wan sat across from Roman at the table watching him down cup after cup of liwi jelly. He’d easily eaten more than half the box Obi-Wan had gotten from the Halls of Healing, empty cups stacked neatly to the side. “I’m not quite sure how you like them so much, but I’ll be sure to bring more back.”

“You don’t like them?”  
  
That was certainly a thought. “It isn’t that I don’t like them, perhaps more that I find myself far too often in the Halls of Healing.” Depending on the situation of the patient, if they were able to eat on their own or not, they were given different foods to provide they have enough nutrients. In Roman’s case, liwi jelly. 

The Jedi stood up before moving to the kitchen area.

“What is it made of?”

“Liwi.” Palming a yellow spiky fruit, Obi-Wan showed him before inspecting it and setting it down. “Now you can’t eat it forever. We have other foods, let’s see what you like best.”

“You have other foods?”

Obi-Wan turned around to rest against the kitchen top and folded his arms across his chest. It wasn’t a shock, but a question from this situation one would think...

“Yes, there’s a whole galaxy out the window and there’s one type of food. If you’re thinking just the Jedi... no, we’re not simple. We can enjoy life.”

 _A whole galaxy._ “Huh.” To Roman it seemed that Obi-Wan made it sound like whatever grocery planet was just a hop and a skip away. _Is there even a grocery planet?_

“We have...” Obi-Wan listed foods, he knew for sure, but _what was th— thakitillo?_ Roman stared blankly, he could understand certain words on their own like casserole and roasted, but a vacuum flower? They definitely weren’t meant to be put together. “...space waffles...” _Ooh, now that sounds intriguing._

“Wait, what was— you have space waffles?”

“Yes, what of it?”

 _What of it?_ There must’ve been something special that made someone put ‘space’ in front of ‘waffles’. “On Earth, we have just... waffles.”

“Well, let’s see then if they taste any different to you, shall we?”

“I guess so.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at the response. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but as from Anakin, it came quite frivolously. “Is that a yes or no?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes, god.”

The first waffle had gone burnt. A sense to Roman that perhaps Obi-Wan had not cooked in a while. Or wasn’t a cook at all himself. Besides the burning smell, there was a sweet tinge of... orange essence? 

His first bite? It had a soft crunch to it, there certainly was the texture and feel of a regular waffle, but the taste! Was it good? Roman squinted at the thought. _Was it good? Do I like it?_

“Well?”

“It’s not a regular waffle.” Roman earned a chuckle at the remark.

The orange was there, but also a lavender? It tasted lightly like the smell of essential oils baked into bread. He hadn’t had anything of the sort, but should he describe it... That’s what he got. It was indeed good. Quite good. The taste cancelled out the uncomfortable feeling he had of eating a waffle that didn’t taste like a waffle; that similar of the excited uneasiness one would get before eating a mystery jelly bean.

With the space waffles, there was Herd Ship’s Bounty Salad, recipe courtesy of Obi-Wan’s friend Dex who apparently ran a diner on Coruscant, which had liwi; and _vacuum flowers_.

 _God, what the fuck._ He prodded at the green... thing. It had been heated up, but still as Obi-Wan presented it to him, it seemed... off.

“Is it alive?” Roman had asked.

“No. In a way. But, no. It’s a plant. Organism.”

It had a goopy texture but it had small spikes on it; might as well have been a carefully molded baked bread roll. The vacuum flower was green but with a jab with his spork, a pink extended outward from the point. It seemed to stick to the spork, sucking it in. _Oh, ew._

But it wasn’t bad.  
  
  
  


Knocking at the door broke the stillness as they ate. Ahsoka and Anakin returned from apparent ship tinkering, slightly covered in soot or oil; perhaps on the Twilight. With Roman on his third plate of food, there was some still left over.

“Ah, great! I’m starving”

“Are you ever not, Master?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Nope. Ration bars just don’t cut it. Anyways,” Either he seemed to be preoccupied with his simple task or simply didn’t want to acknowledge Roman, he carried on. _Out of sight out of mind._ “There’s another meeting you have a few minutes after 2200, Master.”

“A few minutes after?”

“Master Plo Koon offered to com you, but I told him we were on our way. He said that you should take your time. A few minutes after.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said under his breath. “Would our situation here be the topic of discussion or a mission, rather?”

“Probably a mission. We’re supposed to come along with you.”

_A fourth meeting. Force help me._

At the table as dinner continued on with conversation, Ahsoka found a few times unable to stop staring. There was a clear difference between Master Kenobi and this new Roman guy. One could tell they were identical if you made the little effort to see it. Of course, there was the evident darker hair that Roman had, the beard that Obi-Wan grew, a flamboyance to the way Roman walked and talked, the loose rigidity in Obi-Wan’s stance.

But then there was the same way the crow’s feet were beginning to pronounce themselves at the corner of eyes, the way the skin furrowed deepening the crease between eyebrows, the mole that sat over his right cheekbone, the slight edges on his forehead.

Roman seemed to be older, but Obi-Wan’s maturity surpasses that. They both seemed tired; on a spectrum they would be on different ends, Obi-Wan tired of the war and Roman tired of what he called everything—a _shithole_.

Their discussions were kept mainly between the Jedi with a few questions and comments from Roman. Ahsoka could tell Obi-Wan left opening chances for Anakin to reply, but she knew he was unwilling to just accept that it wasn’t just their galaxy far, far away and thus all questions were answered by the Master Jedi.

“Let’s get going, Snips.”

“Huh, what? Oh. Yes, Master.” She finished off the last few bites of space waffle that grew cold before standing. “Master Kenobi...” Ahsoka turned to the unfamiliar man. “Roman.”

Out the door, Anakin mumbled indirectly to Ahsoka, much more to himself, really. “I have a bad feeling about this.” If Obi-Wan heard, he didn’t say anything about the declaration. But with Anakin and Ahsoka gone, Roman and him had some time for themselves. A time much needed to address some things.

“How, only the Force knows, but I've been granted the Jedi Council’s permission to take you under my care. It’s a great kindness to look the other way, but given I am part of the council, I suppose it’s somewhat acceptable. We shouldn’t take this for granted.” He moved a chair to sit adjacent to Roman. There was another sigh as he thought about how this should go. It would be enough time when Roman would return home. _Better not waste these moments._ “I’ve asked that I’m able to train you in the way of the Jedi for whatever time you spend here in hopes that you’re able to apply it back home. The Jedi Council sense you’re a dangerous man under the wrong influences and it is in my very best interest to ensure that does not happen.”

“Hoh,” came a quite audible chuckle from Roman. “Nice.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward clasping his hands together, head dropping in a bit of frustration. _He isn’t taking this seriously._ He looked up at Roman who was sitting back in his chair, legs splayed out. If there was someone he could pick to be the living embodiment of the Mando’a word _shabuir_ , it would be Roman Sionis. _Stop that._ Obi-Wan couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. “Have you ever worn a Force suppressor?”

“No fucken clue. What is it?”

“It’s the band on your wrist.” _Oh. Okay._

“There was a bit of a situation you may not have remembered, but the healers deemed it was necessary for your safety as well as theirs that you had one.” Obi-Wan scooted his chair forward before reaching out his hand to Roman. “I believe the loss of your connection to the Force and your use of teleportation has been the cause of your headaches.” 

Albeit begrudgingly, Roman set his right hand in the other Ewan McGregor’s hand. “I want to get you home, so we will have to get into details, but I suppose that you’ll be able to think more clearly if you found yourself to reconnect with the Force.”

“Mmhmm. Sounds good.” That was another thing. _What even was the Force? Was it some heavenly being? Are the Jedi part of a cult?_

“I need you to take a deep breath.” Slow inhale. Roman held it in for a moment, clearing his mind. Something that he’s worked on throughout his life. Exhale. 

A click.

The air around him seemed to condense. It formed into a fist and knocked out whatever air he had left in his lungs as he was thrown backwards from the chair. The world turned upside down in slow motion and sound became a ringing.. 

He had become much more aware of the gravity that was pulling him down. It held a much tighter grasp. He had become much more aware of Obi-Wan who sat still in his chair, eyes meeting his, a panic that grew settling on his expression. The glow of the band that became part of his nature of his stay in his grip.

Roman hit the ground, much harder than he would have liked. He felt his entire body contracting, the amount of pain from his muscles tensing could have been broken bones. It felt like a repeated electric shock through his body throwing him back.

He drew in a sharp breath and closed his fists tight as they pushed against the ground. There was a quick shuffling to his side, “Ro...” but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to curl up and die. Arching his back slightly, all he could do was to bring up a knee, but it didn’t help much at all. Trying to pace his breathing only brought more pain, lungs burning. His heartbeat accelerating by the second.

“...d to answer me, Roman.” His accented voice seemed ever too loud in his still ringing ears.

Roman felt like throwing up. Nothing settled in his gut. With the rush of some kind of adrenaline, it felt best that he did. Except he couldn’t move. He didn’t exactly fancy the idea of vomiting all over himself, possibly choking. “What the everloving fuck was that?” he called out before realising another thing.

“I— I can’t move.” Obi-Wan still sat at his side offering little help. “Shit. Fuck. Obi-Wan. It— It hurts to move, I can’t—” Roman felt melded to the floor. The weight of _something_ was crushing him.

“Roman, you just need to relax. It’s your reconnection to the Force.”

“Fuck the Force! I don’t even know what it is! Just get me off the goddamn floor!”

_Ah._

Things were slowly clicking into place for Obi-Wan. _Roman doesn’t want to answer questions, it’s only in dire situations that he reveals certain aspects of his life and his world. Either unwillingly or through emotional urges._ “Roman, do you happen to know the name of your galaxy? Does it have one?”

“No. I don’t fucken know. Why does it matter? Can I get off the fucking floor first?” His strain grew with his irritation. Obi-Wan brought his hand to his chin. Thinking.

“We’ve certainly heard stories of those who have travelled thousands of lightyears past the Outer Rim, but none of anyone _coming from_ thousands of lightyears. Especially in your case.” He scratched at his beard remembering his first introduction to Roman. _He really just came out of nowhere._

A call for help. “That’s fan-fucking-tastic but please, Jesus Christ, get me off the fucking floor, thank you very much.”

“This may not work.” Obi-Wan placed a hand under Roman’s neck and pried upwards.

Or at least attempted to. 

“You’re gonna fucking break my neck, fuck off!”

Obi-Wan knows the power of the Force. He’s grown up with it his entire life. They used the Force for basic things like reaching new heights or to carry things that would be otherwise impossible or to break your fall, to carry others. The Force had many uses, far more than one could possibly count. Uses for good and bad. He’s never known of anyone using the Force to push themselves down in such a way.

Roman has never known the power of the Force.

His first lesson.

“You need to work with me here, Roman.”

“I’m doing my fucken best, here Obi.”

“I don’t—” he sighed before proceeding. “I want you to breathe with me. Slow it down as much as you can. Take in your surroundings. Feel the gravity. Feel what makes up the ground, the chair, your muscles, your blood, skin and bones. I want you to break them apart, break them down into the pieces that make up each thing. Gravity is pushing you down. I want you to push back.

Roman pushed with all his might. It honest to God felt like he was at the bottom of a dog pile. Just that every limb of every person on top dug into his own. Pins and needles in every joint. “Fuck! Fuck, it fucking hurts. I can’t—“ Shifting his leg was lifting a ten foot metal pole on your own from one side with one hand.

“You need to find balance, Roman. Find your center. Use what you have,” _Did he fucking read my thoughts? Can you read thoughts? Can Jedi read thoughts?_ “I know you can do this.”

Inch by inch, Roman tore his right arm and leg free from the ground, not without a ‘fuck’ to accompany each limb. He lay tilted to his left resting his leg pulled up and arm on his chest, panting from the exertion.

“Obi-Wan, there’s got to be another way, Jesus Christ. It hurts!” Obi-Wan scratched at his beard for a moment, in thought, before he turned to walk away. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Getting something. I won’t tell you to stay there knowing you can’t move.”

_True._

Into his room again, inside the compartment a small bag. He brought it out to Roman dumping the contents by his side. Dark colored rocks toppled together in a pile.

“I can’t fucking play a stupid game of Dungeons and Dragons while stuck to the floor,”

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged, hands on his knees. With an inhalation of breath, he closed his eyes. He said nothing in return—the best way of teaching was sometimes by example.

The stones shifted slightly before slowly rising up in the air.

Obi-Wan reached out with another open hand, the clatter of glass sounding. Slowly, as a glass came together, he opened his eyes, final shattered pieces fused with the bigger picture. He held it in his hand then, his eyebrows raised.

“Does this look to be a stupid game?”

“Oh, fuck me!” _What kind of fucking witchcraft?_ “Fucking hell!”

“Peace, serenity, harmony. We must master ourselves before we can hope to master the Force.” Obi-Wan had said those words to Anakin long ago. “If you believe you’re going to be stuck to the carpet, you might as well continue to be.”

“Do you trust me?” He had a hand thrust out to Roman.

With his free hand, Roman grabbed on, holding tightly to Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. “Do I have any other choice?”

“Hold your breath.” Roman held his breath.

Irritation, stress, and disgust, flooded through Obi-Wan. A constant bombardment by the anger and anxiety from Roman nearly loosened his grip, but he pressed through, mantra after mantra. He’s been through so much. Perhaps too much or maybe not enough. Injuries. Betrayals. Deaths of people he held close. He’s been through worse. Zigoola. _Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. Beware the dark side, Jedi._

Gritting his teeth slightly, but with some effort, he pulled Roman from the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not completely happy with this chapter, then again the same with the other chapters. I want to fix so much.
> 
> End Note Edit: I completely forgot about putting in 'Ewan McGregor'. Goodness gracious, I'm dumb. Am I going to keep it in? You bet your ass.
> 
> On a last note - come send me some memes over Tumblr at terr-hedgehog. I love meme.
> 
> I love all the comments and kudos. Except when I don't post. They haunt me at night. Keep haunting me won't ya?


	6. Removing Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [visible nervous] Nothing new. Same old writing that hasn't improved.
> 
> Anyways.

The Black Mask Club ran as normally. There was something off though as it seemed Victor’s anxiety powered the lights. It must seemingly be connected as to why Roman Sionis wasn’t present, though it was normal as he would take some chances for an occasional vacation. Probably to Rio de Janeiro or some exotic island out in the middle of nowhere.

Music played loud enough that the bass reverberated through the floor.

Victor leaned over the banister of the top floor looking at the club below and it’s patrons from behind a flute glass. He took a sip, feeling the sour bitterness pour down his throat. It was probably the wrong drink in the wrong glass, but Roman wasn’t here to rectify his mistake. So Victor didn’t care. But he wanted to.

No business was being done. Just the drinking, the singing, the dancing. The flashing of the lights, the way they swayed in every direction. It nauseated him. Victor always just seemed to be focused on Roman and whatever he needed. He didn’t seem aware of his purpose now. What, with Roman gone, he could really only just keep things running in Roman’s place.

Below on the dance floor, there was the familiar blush and sapphire colored hair weaving past others. 

Harley Quinn.

_She’s done something to him. She took him. She’s a witch who did some fucking spell. Shit. The Joker’s got him. What’s happening to Roman? What are they doing to him? I need to find him. Find Roman. Find him. Find him. Find. Him. What did they do? The clowns fucking took Roman. They’re hurting him. I’ll find Roman. Then, I’ll get a very well deserved death._

“Ooh, Romy’s boy’s got some issues. Too much to drink huh, buddy?” Harley’s voice. They were outside, his hands wrapped around her throat, a knife to her cheek.

Victor shook his head. “What did you do to him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about? What did I do to wh—”

“You dumb bitch! Where is he? Where’s Roman?” He was shaking her now, his own hands quivering long ago. Blood started to bead under Victor’s knife.

“Oh! Geez, I don’t know!” Victor would get it for this. Her voice was annoying and he had to know what the fuck was going on. “I thought he was in, like, Brazil! I told you! I don’t know.”

“Fuck.” _She really doesn’t know?_

Roman was gone. He’s been gone for 55 hours 37 minutes. Victor kept count. 

Roman was gone.

**TTTTT**

_“Anywhere?”_

_“Anywhere.” Came a reply. A huskiness in the voice, but soothing._

_He pushed the knife against skin, cutting a deep red line, over raised scars made in the same fashion._

_A sigh of relief. A blink in frustration._

_The dark of blood stood out against pale skin that once was darker, rougher skin._

_“You will tell me who you sold it to!” He shouted._

_“I— I don’t know!” Came a reply. Higher pitched. A woman? “Listen, I have the money! You can buy it back!”_

_“Oh, but you know it’s not quite that simple...” Striding up to her, he brought her wrist close to his mouth, tongue reaching out—_

_Time stopped. Then restarted. He was reaching for her wrist again._

_Time stopped. Then restarted. He was sitting across from her, refined posture with his usual glaze of annoyance._

_Time stopped. Then restarted. He was reaching for her wrist again._

_Time stopped. Then restarted. Someone reached for his own wrist._

_Blood splattered across his own even paler skin and he was thrown against the ground._

_“You should have cut deeper!” A voice far too rough and bellowing loud in his ears._

_“Failing in your failure... You should have died when they dropped you on your head.”_

**TTTTT**

Obi-Wan awoke with a start, he found himself on the floor, bedding strewn about, out of breath. Sitting up, he brought the heel of his hands to his eyes, rubbing away the sleep.

_Stars end._

He wasn’t prone to such vivid visions. Unlike Anakin.

 _Who were those people?_ A groan from the other room startled him out of his thoughts. _Roman._

Crawling to a stand, he crossed over to Roman’s room, the door open. The man in the bed struggled in his sleep, hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat that gathered.

The panic that had settled on Obi-Wan’s expression turned into a gentle concern. Obi-Wan sat on the side of the bed taking just a moment before pressing two fingers to Roman’s temple. Roman’s breath hitched, seemingly caught in his throat before he released it in a long exhale as he relaxed.

Obi-Wan sighed, relieved. Out in the common room, he looked at the chrono. 0125.

He needed as much sleep as he can get, having to leave the temple by 0800 at the latest for departure to Felucia. There were times when his fatigue became too much. Putting up his shields had done close to nothing and he’d realise he would be dozing off or not thinking quite as clearly as he wanted to. Weary, he picked up the bedding and sat on the floor against his bed.

_I ought to lie down._

The chrono read 0409. His neck craned to the side for force knows how long, but it hurt enough to have been longer than 3 hours. Obi-Wan hasn’t found himself this exhausted in a while, he thought honestly. Finally pulling himself to sit on the bed, he took a look through the blinds at the skyline still quite lit up during the night. Lying down, the pillow was softer, but it didn’t seem the comfort he needed.

0447.

As the minutes went by, he found himself noticing the slight changes in brightness that shone between the cracks in the blinds. The way it changed from a light blue to a rusty orange. Of course there was the occasional speeder that came by, but that was to be expected.

He groaned as he sat up, a slight pain still in his neck. _I suppose it’s too early to be awake, but never too early to start the day, really._

Morning meditation was cut short by unwanted thoughts. Perhaps through by Roman or about Roman he wasn’t conscious about it; they passed like a faint dream.

0534.

He changed into his regular attire. Using a small comb he brushed his beard. A look into his own eyes in the mirror: tired. Of course he’d be the only one to see past whatever mood or look he gave off. He was himself.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan took off to the kitchen area. Thinking. He had come back from the meeting once again later than he wanted to. Thankfully, Roman was asleep. Nothing seemed amiss in the common room. 

There were droid forces on Felucia. It seemed of utmost importance that the Jedi assist, but that wasn’t on Obi-Wan’s mind. At the briefing, Master Windu did indeed give Obi-Wan the option for Roman to tag along with them. This either seemed progressive or precarious on their part. Either situation deemed uncertain outcomes. The man did seem to be capable of accomplishing any task, not that he would actually as demonstrated earlier. It certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t improve.

0626\. Space waffles for breakfast. 

He thought as he cooked. He certainly didn’t want to leave Roman behind, but there was indubitably the danger of war. Obi-Wan wasn’t aware of what sort of weapons Roman had on his Earth. They could be the same for all he knew. In the end, the risk of death weighed more than a mess that would be made.

He wrote as he ate. Instructions for how to use the holographic message he was going to leave. English just had to have different sounds for each letter. As if speaking wasn’t sometimes hard enough as it was.

From the closet he pulled out a duraliam case and laid it on the table. He opened it and sighed as he took out his armor. The comlink piece he fiddled with, beeping sounded quietly until one final low drone rang then one last beep. His message was short but hopefully he got across carefully. 

There was some resentment as he put on his armor. He didn’t want to go to war, but he wanted it to end. So he had to. He didn’t want to leave Roman, but he didn’t want harm to come to him. So he had to.

0700 he left.

Just over the horizon, the sun lit the sky quite brightly and there was a dull shine that glazed over the Negotiator. Obi-Wan made his way across the boarding ramp, questions and thoughts a never-ending flow in his mind. Something was up. Is he making the right choice by leaving Roman?

_Stop it, he’ll be fine._

_I think._

_I left instructions. I contacted Master Windu about the situation. He’ll be fine._

Commander Cody stood to meet him at the entrance.

“General.”

A gentle pat on the back, “I’ll take it that you got enough rest, Commander?”

“Yes, sir.” Cody replied back looking at the ground first before raising his eyes. “If I may ask you the same?”

“Oh, plenty.”

Cody nodded, “With all due respect, General. I do believe that to be a lie. Would I be correct, sir?”

He answered back with a shrug, “Perhaps.” They started to the bridge, steps falling in time with each other. “Also, I did mention before that you can call me ‘Obi-Wan’. ‘Sir’ comes across as too much a formality between good friends. At least between us. Wouldn’t you say the same, Cody?”

“Yes, sir...” Obi-Wan could tell the gears were still turning to process it. “Obi-Wan...” It was certainly out of order. Cody was made to follow orders. Breaking that formality was strange. “...Sir.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. It’s a step. These things take a while to get used to. He’s still needing to get used to ‘sir’, Cody to using ‘Obi-Wan’. It was simple.

A clone strode up to them and saluted. “Ah, Sergeant. Walk with us.” The clone sergeant was more stiff in his walk, Obi-Wan could tell. “Your help was greatly appreciated on Ryloth. I never congratulated you on your promotion. All has gone well?”

“Thank you, sir. Yes, sir.” There it was again. “The reporting status for the 49th squad, is clear.

“Excellent. Do you have a name, my friend?”

“CT-1016.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan held his hands behind his back, head quickly bowing in thought before speaking again. “I do want to be the first to know when you find yourself, yes? I would take the time to name each one of you should I not be so...”

<General Kenobi!> Crys.

“...occupied.”

While he knew he did have time as well as many things to do, Obi-Wan wanted the clones to find out personally what called to themselves. He already had a mental list of names for some ready to go if someone asked.

Cody placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “We should get going, General.”

“Right, of course.”

Kenobi turned to walk away, but there was something amiss to Cody about Obi-Wan that he couldn’t help but notice. Nervousness? _No, the general never got nervous. Something else, then._ If at all, yes he was a Jedi Master, but also a master at hiding those kinds of things. There was a look Cody gave CT-1016, “One last task: just keep an eye out for anything suspicious?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Obi-Wan and Cody tended to Crys’ need of approval for droid communication maintenance. On the bridge, the Negotiator started up. At the moment, a different worry. _Anakin and Ahsoka should be awake and_ here _by now._

Cody’s comlink rang. CT-1016 himself.

**TTTTT**

Roman was awake when Obi-Wan left. He probably wasn’t trying to, but he made quite a commotion. There was a slam that woke him up followed by something being set down. Clattering. The smell of space waffles. He thought he’d grow fond of that smell. 

Either that or he’d get sick of it.

The slamming turned out to be something opening and closing, he guessed. They did become softer every time, but he was already awake. 

_It wasn’t a dream._

Of the, _what three... four times..._ that Roman had woken up in this goddamn nightmare, he kept telling himself it was a dream. He sat up and Roman’s breathing hitched before becoming rapid and he closed his eyes tightly. 

_Breathe._ He heard inside his head. _Relax._

It... wasn’t his thoughts. Whatever it was put him into a bit of confusion, but it was... calming. 

He felt calm. There was beeping outside the door that he could hear. Quiet; humming. With every sound that set off he took a breath in, the next: a breath out. 

“Morning, Roman. I’ll be gone by the time you get this message...”

_Right._

“...You’re not allowed to be a crime lord in the Jedi temple, so please don’t kill anyone. I believe I told you we are in a war. I don’t have the time to go into explicit detail, but I will tell you should you wish to know. To the point, I will be gone for quite some time to another planet. I’ve left a message for your good friend, Samuel L. Jackson. Actually, please don’t call him that. He will be able to assist you here on Coruscant. As of now, it is 0630, Master Windu will be there at 0900. In order for us to find you a way home, I need to know everything you know about Earth. Kindly use the flimsi paper here to write down anything you can. We will work together to piece things together upon my return.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment. A beep. He groaned to himself before sighing. Another beep.

“I’m sorry this is happening, Roman. You will return home. I promise. May the Force be with you.” 

Beep.

Roman couldn’t tell what happened after that. A few more random noises then the hissing of the door. Obi-Wan was gone.

He opened his room door with a struggle, then looked out at the empty room. On the table a round disc, paper, and space waffles along with the Force suppressor.

_Follow Obi-Wan._

That didn’t seem like an entirely bad idea did it? _Abso-fucking-lutely it did not._

He clipped the suppressor back onto his wrist. _Oh, fuck. Wait. Shit. Fuck._

Roman felt... Normal? _Fuck it, it’s fine._

On the paper he saw his name written _quite fucken badly_ amongst a bunch of other things _._ _At least he tried._ He folded it up quickly patting at his clothes. _Don’t they have pockets?_ Roman resorted to sticking the paper in between his tabards and his tunic.

_Fuck._

He took a space waffle in hand to then hold it between his teeth. The round disc looked important. He picked it up before throwing on his cloak that had been draped over the chair. Out the door, he threw on the hood.

He was jogging, he didn’t know where he was going and took a guess with a few turns. Running into someone, _thank God another human_ , was the least of his worries, but it was met with an answer in direction.

Picking up the pace, he finally saw Obi-Wan round a corner. It wouldn’t the be the best, he thought, if Obi-Wan were to see him so he kept his distance. 

The silver disc slipped through his fingers unfortunately, the paper falling out as well at one point, but it was no disruption as it was a quick pick up.

An archway led outside, a closed roof overhead did little to stop the rising sun from getting into his eyes. It was more open spaced and distanced himself further. There was a rampway that Obi-Wan started down, Roman stood still against a pillar out of sight. A look past the pillar and Obi-Wan was entering the building. He broke a slow pace down the ramp after Obi-Wan.

Things inside were happening at a fast pace, people in white armor running from place to place. Containers being carried about. It sure as hell looks like preparation for war if he’s seen it.

He continued after Obi-Wan, still from afar. Hiding behind crates and walls.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He repeated it to himself. Obi-Wan had stopped. Talking to another man in armor. It went on for a while he thought, not a single sentence was comprehensible to him, just out of range. He had sat down on his haunches after some time; drummed his fingers on his thigh.

 _Obi-Wan sure likes to talk._ Impatience was one part of the worst of him. The adrenaline that was running through him needed somewhere to go. There wasn’t time to sit and rest and wait. But... What else did he have to do? He wasn’t on a time crunch, there wasn’t some... annoying brat to get annoyed by and call a brat, he didn’t have to— 

“Hey!” He didn’t have to have a gun pointed at his chest, did he? _Fuck, no._ “You need to come with me.” The man’s voice sounded through his helmet, though not quite robotic.

“Well, I don’t like your tone. I’m not going anywhere. You can go fuck yourself.”

CT-1016 grabbed at his wrists in an attempt to pull him along.

Roman moved to grab at CT-1016’s leg, in a single breath the clone grabbed his arm with both hands and stepped behind Roman. His sight a blur, Roman found himself flipped backwards over CT-1016’s knee. A quick pressure underneath his arm, CT-1016 rolled to push Roman to face down on the ground. There weren’t any Miranda rights to be read to him here.

“Come on.” The way to the holding cell was mostly quiet. Roman breaking the silence in the turbolift.

“If you let me go, I won’t tell the Jedi Council.”

“This is...” Commander Cody took orders from General Kenobi. “...an order from the Jedi Council.”

There was more silence.

“You got a name or something, soldier?”

“CT-1016.”

“That’s a number.” Roman cocked an eyebrow in response. “Not a name.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh.” They exited the lift.

“What does ‘CT’ stand for?”

Whoever this trespasser was, he didn’t seem the smartest. It was common sense. Maybe if he just answered all his questions, the trespasser would leave him alone.

“Clone trooper.”

“You’re all clones?”

“That’s... that’s what clone means.”

“Isn't it hard to remember all the numbers of all the clones?” Questions came one after the other. Might as well know. Or maybe Roman would let this information go right out the window. He didn’t care about it at the moment. “How many clones are there?”

“That’s classified.” CT-1016 didn’t know. Thousands. Millions more likely it seemed. “A handful of us have names that we give each other or that we earn.” CT-1016 opened the cell with a push of a button. “In you go.”

There was a slight reluctance as he sat in the cell. It wouldn’t be the first time. With experience came the chance he could convince the clone to let him go. He’s done it many times before. There was a sway he had speaking straightforwardly, offering wealth. 

Though, Roman didn’t have that here.

CT-1016 brought his wrist up to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with Roman as he spoke into his comlink. “Commander Cody? CT-1016 here. I definitely saw something suspicious and brought a trespasser down to the holding cells. Cell 2553.”

Obi-Wan’s voice chimed in through, his voice was a bit strained as if he feared the worst, “Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll be there momentarily.”

“What about—“ Roman knew he was becoming irritating. That’s what most people did. They would either bore him out of his mind or they extended past being ‘annoying’ and he just killed them right on the spot. What could this clone do now that he was behind a laser field? The sooner he left, the sooner Roman could find a way to get out. “Hmm. No.”

No answer.

“How does Staussen sound to you?”

It did indeed seem like a nice name. It felt nice to have a name. CT-1016 had wanted something to go by, but he never had the time. It also seemed selfish to ask. He had accepted Staussen almost immediately. And... he felt good about it.

“It’s Russian, I think. Was a friend of mine. Nice guy. He died, though, so that’s unfortunate. Someone shot at myself, shot him instead.” There was a nonchalance to his shrug. “Not that I expect that of you.”

“Anyway, you’re Staussen now.” He was annoying himself. Roman wanted out and he wanted out _now_. “‘Kay?”

Inwardly, CT-1016 let out quite a joyful ‘yes’ as if there was no war. There was a sense of freedom and belonging Staussen now had. He nodded.

“I would’st look upon the face of my rescuer. How do you clones look?”

Roman couldn’t tell whether or not Staussen liked the idea of being named. This move was either going to push towards exasperation or he genuinely liked it. “With our eyes.” _Ah, nice._

“Sergeant.” _Ah, fuck. Too late._

Staussen turned and stood at attention, “General. Commander.”

“At ease.” Staussen relaxed at Obi-Wan’s nod. General Kenobi had that thing where he’d bring about a positive ambience to the room no matter the situation. If it wasn’t protocol, he’d ease once Kenobi was within sight. “I see you’ve kept to your task. Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Obi-Wan made eye contact with Roman. In fact, all eyes were on him. “Roman.”

“Why, yes. That’s me.” The smile he dawned changed to a glum glare. He hated playing nice. This clone guy got a name, but Roman never got out. A nod from Obi-Wan to Staussen and the lasers broke.

“To your station, soldier.” The command came from Cody. It was met with a ‘yessir’ from Staussen who turned to leave, but stopped past the door. 

“General?” The clone took off his helmet.

“Yes?”

“The name’s Staussen.” Underneath, Staussen’s hair was shaved on the sides close to the peak. His hair on top was gathered into a braid that sat above his shoulder. _Oh, how cute._

A smile spread across Obi-Wan’s face. Glad he could put a name to a familiar face. “Well, then. Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Staussen. I do hope to see you around” 

Staussen’s smile was ever wider as he put his helmet back on, turned and left briskly.

“Come on then.” Roman stood and followed.

With all honesty, Roman was shocked at what followed on his journey through the building, but kept up his glaring looks. Now he stood in the bridge alongside Obi-Wan. A few uncertain eyes in his direction. He looked out the viewport as the planet faded to space before him. 

_This is a fucking spaceship_.

Roman didn’t dare to address his unwelcome appearance with Anakin and Ahsoka, but he could feel it.

“Are we all set for hyperspace?”

“Yes, General.”

“Fantastic. Anakin, now that I assume you’re fully awake, you can take it from here.”

“Sure.”

Roman was wondering how anyone would remember where they were going through the different corridors and lifts they took to the bridge. _You could easily fit a cruise ship. Hell, maybe nine cruise ships._ He saw the size of the Resolute. It would span almost a mile. _Actually, if you stack them on top of each other as well—_

“I’m going to see how we can put our shiny here to work. Roman, follow me.” _Well, fuck._

Again, more corridors and elevators. They walked past some smaller spaceships. Roman didn’t think at all that that would be what they looked like. Some just looked like regular jets or other earthly aircraft. Also, _why was everyone so goddamn quiet?_ Are they communicating telepathically? _No, they talked by using the things on their arms._

 _Comlinks_ , he heard.

Roman and Obi-Wan entered a bigger room, probably the size of half a football field. Obi-Wan pushed at a button revealing blasters of all sizes and shapes in racks. His selection was quick; something small. “Have you ever used a blaster before?”

Roman shook his head. “No? I’ve never.”

There was another thing that Obi-Wan tapped at, a blue digital screen of sorts. He withdrew his hand for a moment before pointing at the basic that was written across the screen. “Do you know what that says?”

With that, Roman leaned over, his arms folded and he pursed his lips. He pointed slightly at the lettering, then closed his eyes and tilted his head back in concentration. Looking down again, it took a moment. “Battle droid?”

“Right.” A few more selections and three droids rose up through the floor. The way Obi-Wan held his blaster showed he was comfortable, but there was a sigh he let out, something akin to defeat.

Three clean shots were made one after the other and the droids went down without a fight. _Oh, what the fuck?_ _Holy shit._

He passed the blaster over to Roman. It's weight settled nicely, though quite a bit bigger than that of a regular pistol. Three more droids appeared behind a barricade. His first shot hit too low, but what got him was the feeling of shooting the blaster. 

It was... invigorating.

There was a prickling sensation sent through his arms. The energy pushed him back some, but he stood his ground going for another shot at the droids. Spreading his legs apart slightly, he held the blaster higher. Back straightening, there was a breath he held as he shut his left eye and focused. His next shots were spot on, typical of Roman using a new gun.

“Well done. Keep the blaster on you.” Obi-Wan waved his hand and the safety clicked. _Smart._ “I ask because we are in a war. Have been for a year or so.”

“‘Kay, so?”

“So, I am saying that you could not have come at the best time for this. Should you die on the Force-forsaken battlefield, I may never forgive myself.”

“I’m not a fucking child, Obi-Wan. I’m forty-one years old! What makes you think you have any authority over me? Huh? How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.” Obi-Wan was grinding the back of his teeth. “But, Roman, we are in my universe and I will see to it personally that you are returned to your own and I can’t do it if you’re dead!” 

“Listen buddy, I’m not going to sit out on the sidelines bored out of my mind just so I can go back to stupid Gotham!” He gestured outward with a flat hand. “You can’t make me! I’m gonna shoot fucken lasers at robots because I want to!”

Obi-Wan folded his arm over the other and stood. His lips tightened into a line at the outrage, amusement at the tone of ‘buddy’. Maybe Roman was right; he wouldn’t be able to make him study and research his whole time here. His doppelganger was getting antsy. Oh, for sure he knew a thing or two about working with an antsy man child.

“So? What’s your verdict, General Kenobi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you... do you think that Roman likes Shrek?


End file.
